


The Lighthouse Keeper

by Carissmatic (TheDreadPirate)



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Disabled Character, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7240528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreadPirate/pseuds/Carissmatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles cares for the lighthouse the best he can in spite of his injury and the lingering ache of loss that hangs over his head. He shies away from human contact until it's thrust upon him when a man washes up on the shore of his home. As much as Charles is determined to save the stranger, it becomes apparent that the man may have the ability to save him right back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shipwrecked Sailor

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [XavierineFest2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/XavierineFest2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Eccentric professor Xavier takes in a shipwrecked sailor with no memory of where he came from. Powered or non. Preference for disabled!Charles; they help each other accept and heal from their recent losses.
> 
>    
> Updated 6/21/16 Thank you drx for pointing out POV errors! Still making virgin mistakes ;)  
> I deviated from the original prompt somewhat because ideas were exploding in my brain and i couldn't stop them. The prompt called for Regency, but this is set in a land with no time (or whatever, i just couldn't settle on a time scape). This fic isn't finished yet either mostly because i suck at due dates, oops.
> 
> Updated 7/15/16 I fixed a few things that were messing with the developing story. Nothing major. A few redundancies and a problem with Charles' braces.

Charles Xavier stares out through the thick glass window of his observatory; his eyes scanning the inky black waves as they crash against the rocky shore. This particular mannerism is finally subconscious after roughly fifteen months of practice. Of course he'd never intended to become so dependent upon watching that dark horizon. It took some time but he's finally accepted that his beacon will never shine upon a certain person, as much as he accepts that his eyes will never stop their fruitless searching.

Once, he had been able to manage not keeping watch for an entire day and night. That sad, short experiment resulted in him coming close to sickness with guilt and rushing to his elevated perch to watch the sea for the rest of that early morning and afternoon.

It's been roughly fifteen months since his legs were rendered useless, yet he stays; in a lighthouse no less. 

Adjusting to the work required in keeping up such a structure has resulted in no less than three near death experiences as well as various and many aches and bruises. Deep to his core he thanks this place for giving him purpose and keeping him sane, all the while trying to murder him and drive him mad. These are very troubled times for the young Xavier man. Troubles he sees fit to run from.

It was that third dance with death that forced him to come to terms with the honest truth. There are some things that he just can't do anymore. It seems a simple admission, but for one Professor Charles Frances Xavier it came as a soul shaking revelation. His legs had been crushed in an auto collision and over a year later he still had a greatly diminished mobility.

The first few months were the toughest he'd ever experienced in his life and Charles is willing to attribute that to his own stubbornness. He'd never been that good at asking for help and by all means he wouldn't start now. In spite of his injury he vowed to be as self sufficient as possible. 

He outright refused the wheelchair and scooter offered by the doctors and settled with full leg braces and a partial back brace. After he made decent progress with rehabilitation he was able to stick with just double leg braces and an unencumbered back. He learned how to swing himself properly on his crutches and was able to lap the lighthouse and cottage in no time (in 6 months time to be accurate).

Once he could trust his body again he launched into plans to fit not only the lighthouse, but the entire grounds with accessibility fixtures to allow him to achieve some of the mobility he'd lost. His proudest achievement came after he designed a variation of a bosun's chair secured by a pulley system at the apex of the inner lighthouse shaft. With the addition of an adaptive compliant hand crank he was able to reach the observatory without pain or great loss of breath. And the downward propulsion was a dream come true; at least for this particular independent man.

Of course he'd be remiss to take all the credit for the improvements made upon his home. The acceptance of his need for help was one personal roadblock, but the act of calling for said help is an entirely separate matter. He sat in his tiny reading room berating himself for his inaction until he finally, begrudgingly, called the local handyman to ask for advice on his plans. 

Though Charles was going through emotional turmoil in admitting defeat, Mr. McCoy sounded rather eager to help and that did much to ease the recluse's trepidation. Then, upon meeting the man, all his worry seemed to wash away with the tide. Hank, as he prefers, turns out to be a very dear man who is willing to do a great many things to aide Charles. The professor is curious for a time that perhaps Hank knows more about him than he lets on, but the other man never brings it up so neither does Charles.

Hank learned very quickly that there are certain things the professor is unwilling to talk about. While Hank seems to accept Charles' ways and seclusion he isn't afraid to do his best to convince the budding hermit that he needs a few more people working on the grounds. He hires a few men to help with cleaning the windows and landscaping, but any inside work he handles himself. 

He improves upon Charles' design for his lighthouse pulley system and makes it both much more secure and user friendly for the disabled man. 

They all develop an unspoken agreement; Hank never presses for the broken man's past and the other workers are discouraged from talking to Charles period. 

Charles does try to be somewhat hospitable or at the very least amicable. It's difficult however, to avoid people and come off pleasant. He feels very thankful for having Hank in his life. He's just still not ready… 

He snaps back from his reverie and looks at the wall clock to see that it's 12:15 in the morning. He'll stand watch for just a few minutes more and then he'll force himself to sleep; which is another ordeal all its own. Charles will then stand in front of his bathroom mirror and tell himself for the umpteenth time that it's ok to go to sleep; it's ok because there is no one to wait up for.

He glances at the clock in time to watch it turn: 12:16. He sighs heavily and looks out over the waves once more allowing himself to be lulled by their dark undulations. He looks again on the rocks and his brow furrows as he leans in towards the glass, eyes trained on what appears to be a bundle of clothes washed ashore, still being jostled by the waves. 

He keeps his eyes locked on the bundle as he reaches for the binoculars that hang to his left; he brings them quickly to replace his 20/20 for something with far greater magnification. He begins breathing heavily with a familiar tightness in his chest; the beginnings of a panic attack. 

He watches unblinking as he struggles with his initial fear; that there is no body and he's having a psychotic break. 

That could be a body. He tells himself and continues staring. Then the haze of doubt clears and he knows he's not crazy.

"That could be a body." He says aloud to assure himself yet again that he's not gone mad. He's still looking for some sign that there is a person under the clothes even as he contemplates how he can get down those bloody rocks.

"No…" He whispers to an empty room as his eyes catch on a pale bit of flesh peaking out gleaming white in the dark nest of sopping clothes. It's a hand!

He drops the lenses and hobbles his way to the harness mounted from the lighthouses ceiling before he gives the situation one more thought. He's propelled himself so many times over the last several months that his mind is already occupied with which side of the slight cliff he should throw himself down to get to the man.

He notices once he's made it to the bottom that he didn't bother fastening the safety harness. Well, the important thing is that I made it.

Charles grabs up his forearm crutches and hurries from the house as best he can. He swings his legs into a hop in front of him and then brings the crutches ahead of him and repeats, pumping down the pavement and then turning onto the grass. His crutches sink a little in the damp earth, but he's not deterred. He gets to the edge of the slick lawn and looks down. It's a mere 7 foot drop, but for him it might as well be twice that. Nevertheless, he throws his crutches aside and lowers himself slowly to swing his legs over the muddy ledge. He unhinges a few pieces of metal that keep his braces perpetually straight, allowing him to bend at the knee as needed. He counts himself lucky that it's not a straight drop; there's a bit of a slope that will aide in his descent. 

He realizes finally, as he begins sliding and crab walking down that he wasn't dressed for this type of thing. But what does one wear to a rescue? Certainly pants covering up his braced, quickly bruising legs would have fared better than just the boxers he had on. Maybe a damn rain jacket not this cashmere fluff he wore. He ends his internal ranting as he touches down on the rocky shore; the worst of his exploits still lay ahead. 

The man isn't very off, but Charles won't even attempt to walk to the man. The rocks are smooth and slimy with sea life and he's still wearing his leg braces. Being upright at this moment would be suicide. He takes a moment to debate crawling versus another crab walk and settles on the latter. His knees will likely appreciate it. 

The crab walk is a bust however, when his legs begin screaming in agony as he tries to force them to work in ways they are no longer meant to. He decides instead to sit down and pull himself over the rocks which might cause abrasions, but his legs are no longer feeling like they're being torn apart. He maneuvers himself finally to the man's side and sits as close as he can while he grabs at the clothes to feel for the man's body.

"Hey there! Can you hear me?" The crashing waves are amplified against the stony cliffs so he leans into the man and speaks clear and loud; muttering all manner of nonsense to try to keep the man alert if he ever was at all. He pulls at the man's arm and follows it up to a shoulder and then to the man's neck immediately searching for a pulse. He sighs in relief at the faint beat he finds there. He moves his hand further up the whiskered face to feel for any soft puffs of breath, but then he's quickly hauling himself up to settle over the man's body when he feels nothing. 

His fragile knees are already being torn against the jagged stones, but he can't let that stop him now. Fortunately, the man is already on his back so Charles goes to gently rest his head upright on the flat rock and uses his fingers to pry the man's mouth open to check for any obstructions. He juts the man's jaw forward being careful of his neck and lowers his ear to the man's mouth to feel once more for breath, but again finding none. 

He keeps his left hand on the man's neck to steady him while moving to pinch his nose with his right hand. He seals his mouth over the unresponsive man's own and blows hard enough to see the man's chest rise from the effort. He waits 5 seconds before forcing air into the man's chest again and then feels for his carotid artery happy to see the pulse still struggling along. He breath's again a bit harder after another 5 seconds and then he's pushing the man to his side as he vomits up sea water and various stomach contents. 

Charles pats the man's back gently; uttering encouraging noises and words as the man retches, convulsing as his body fights itself to both take in air and expel waste. He's rolled himself to his hands and knees before Charles can stop him as he coughs up and spits out the last of the bile.

He looks around himself for a moment to gain his bearings when his eyes fall on a shivering Charles who's smiling slightly at him and trying to move from his current kneeling position without showing just how much pain he's in. It doesn't work.

The man is somehow able to stand; his breathing is still a bit labored, but he's standing strong and steady as he looks down at the person who helped him. Without a word he steps closer to Charles and offers him a hand to help him up.

Charles' smile turns into an embarrassed and pain filled wince as he allows the man to help him stand.

"I'm afraid I've over extended myself."

And rather than explain he gestures to his legs and allows the man to see for himself. As expected the man's eyes widen upon seeing the metal and straps attached to pale legs.

"I didn't really plan this far ahead. Perhaps you can find a way back up to my cottage and then call for…" Charles words end in a surprised gasp as the man lifts him quickly yet gently around his back and under his knees to carry him towards the shortest part of the cliff where Charles had just descended. He looks around for the safest way up the rock face which he's happy to find is just barely taller than himself.

"Sir, please. You've just been through a very harrowing experience. You nearly drowned." Charles enunciates as slow as he's able in spite of his thundering heart. He's terrified the man doesn't know his limits. He's afraid he'll get them both hurt more than they already are.

"Hold on tight." The man's voice is gruff and stern; Charles isn't sure if it's due to vomiting or its natural timbre. That matters not as he's already obeying the man none the less when he's grabbed around the hips with the man's left arm and Charles assumes he's gripping stones with his right.

They reach the top unscathed, but the man doesn't pause to catch his breath then either. He's striding towards the lighthouse silent again.

"My living quarters are just to the left there." Charles points, realizing how futile his attempts are to stop the man's determination. 

They step into the cottage and both sigh with relief at the warmth. The man spots the kitchen to his right and marches over to set Charles on the kitchen table.

Charles' eyes are wide and indignant at the handling and he sputters as the man bends to address the state of his legs.

"Sir, I thank you for your help, but I assure you I can manage."

"Where's your medical supplies?" The man's voice comes out as a growl causing the slighter man to submit due to its intensity. Something calls in the back of Charles mind, telling him this man is safe. He still doesn't like his attitude, but he decides to go along for now.

"That cabinet to the left of the stove." Charles points to the upper row of cabinets and then works to pull his thoroughly soiled and soaked sweater off over his head. When the man comes back he helps to yank the sopping clothing the rest of the way off the injured man and throws it against the back door. 

"Can we take these off?" The man makes a sweeping motion over Charles' braces and the professor notices that while it's still rough he seems to be trying for gentler now.

"Yes. Undo these buckles here." Charles is unbuckling his right leg brace and the man nods and moves to mirror the effort on the other appendage. Once the braces are off the man grabs the small med kit, removing alcohol and some cotton balls. Charles legs don't look as bad as they could be, only scrapes and bruises, but he knows he's at least sprained something. His legs are throbbing with an ache he thought he'd been rid of.

"In that same cabinet are my pain medications. Can you hand me the one called Oxycontin?" 

The stranger stares at him for a moment and Charles wants to tell him to mind his own business, but the man eventually turns and retrieves the asked for bottle. He doesn't hand it to Charles, but opens it himself and taps out the proper dose into the exasperated man's hand.

Charles believes he's about done. 

"How did we end up here? I thought I was the one saving you, yet here you are micromanaging my life in my own home." Charles is prickling with heat, but doesn't let that stop him from popping the pills into his mouth to swallow them dry. Just as he's gathering saliva he sees the man bring him a glass of water.

"Thank you," he offers softly, "but I don't apologize for my indignation." Charles says matter of factly as he sits close to nude on his kitchen table covered in mud and scrapes.

"Where's your bathroom?" The man waits for an answer as if Charles had said nothing combative at all. Charles eyes narrow and he stares back at the man who in turn quirks an eyebrow letting Charles know without so many words that he could do this all day.

"Down the left hall on the right." Charles is getting very testy. He's not used to having another person trying to take care of things. He doesn't allow himself to fully analyze why either.

The man returns with a stack of towels. He wets one and goes to clean Charles up.

"Wait there a moment!" Charles flaps his arms a bit to fend the man off and has to remind himself not to leap from the table onto his already abused legs.

"I can clean myself just fine, thank you! There are showers here after all." The professor shakes his head at the man trying to play nurse to him.

"It's not very safe to stand in a slippery shower on those toothpicks you got there bub." Charles is incensed at the jab about his too thin legs and the questioning of his abilities.

"I'd think that in your situation, you'd at least be kind enough in return to not degrade the person who just saved your life." Charles folds his arms across his chest and stares with so much fire into the larger man's eyes that the latter finally turns away from his gaze.

"I didn't mean to offend you. And I am grateful for you trying to save me-"

"Trying?! I'm pretty certain I succeeded bud, evidenced by you standing here in my kitchen trying to… to…!" Charles trails off trying to conjure the words to describe his anger.

The man leans back against the counter opposite from where Charles is sitting on the table. He rests his hands over his chest again and just looks at the angry, flustered man before him.

"Trying to take control." He finishes the professor's sentence for him. Charles settles a bit and nods.

"You're right. I'm sorry. You did save me and I'm not being very appreciative of your effort am I?" He straightens up and takes the few steps in between them to get into Charles' space. He settles his hands on either side of the professors knees and drops his voice conspiratorially.

"Here's the thing, bub… I'm not the least bit hurt. Meanwhile." He gestures to the mottled appearance of Charles' legs. Oh dear, they look worse already, I'm going to be in a terrible state tomorrow.

"Also, this is how I happen to show my appreciation. Patching you up, cleaning you off. It's the very least I should do for the man who flung himself off a cliff to come to my aide don't ya think?" The man's raised both eyebrows now, seeming to prompt Charles to see from his side.

"Yes, well, I suppose so. I just… I prefer to rely on myself you see." The professor doesn't look up to catch if the man understands though. He feels sheepish and weaker than usual, but he knows he shouldn't take it out on this man. It's not this stranger's fault that the professor has demons he hasn't properly worked through yet. He sucks in a breath he hadn't realized he was denying himself and decides to do something he hasn't in a long while: he gives up control and allows the man to help him.

"I still don't like being made out as helpless, but you are right. I needed your help on the beach and I shouldn't begrudge further assistance just for the sake of my pride."

Charles straightens up in his seat and extends his hand.

"And in all the confusion I've neglected introductions; I'm Charles Xavier. I'd say it's nice meeting you, but that's along the lines of me congratulating the storm for depositing you so dangerously on the shore. So, I'm sorry for your misfortune, but welcome to my home nonetheless sir-"

"Logan."

"I'm sorry?" Charles was getting caught up in his own babbling. 

"The name's Logan."


	2. The Rescuer Becomes The Rescued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is still cornering the business of saving them while back in Charles' own home. And Chuck ain't so happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All my knowledge is powered by google and the first few websites i'm willing to click on to learn things. I've done just a bit of research to make Charles' disabilities more honest. I've done less research about lighthouses and commercial fishing boats (sorry, not sorry). And i'll be honest... I don't know first hand about gay relationships, but I love them so and here we all are!
> 
> With that being said I wish to do my best to present these two characters in the best way i can especially Charles and the real life aspects of being differently abled that aren't shown that much in the X-men movies. 
> 
> I hope this is moderately enjoyable. There's a movie reference lurking here that has nothing to do with X-Men or the actors featured, but if you know it 100 points to your house!

He returns Charles' hand shake with an assessing look, eyes sweeping over the smaller man's shivering form. Logan mirrors the involuntary tremors, but he doesn't feel the cold the way Charles does. As it happens, his shaking has more to do with adrenaline.

It's the berserker in him. Even without a war to fight it’s always just beneath the surface, waiting to assume control and handle any situation with lethal efficiency. Fortunately, a deadly rage isn't warranted at the moment so his body begins allowing itself to calm. 

However, with untapped adrenaline still coursing through his body, he's ready to get shit done. Former Berserker Problem-Solver Mode - trademark pending. Gotta come up with a better acronym though…

With introductions out of the way Logan identifies their needs and moves to execute them: Get him and the kid dry; get some fuel in them; and then sleep for a hundred years because that ocean was a son of a bitch.

He goes to the parlor to add a few more scraps of wood to bolster the subdued embers. He spots several throws hanging over the back of a crimson hued sofa, grabbing a couple as he moves back into the kitchen. He drapes one over the other man's lap and the other over his shoulders.

"Thank you." Charles mutters as he eyes the other man warily, pulling the warm fabric tighter around himself.

Logan grunts in response and is already off down the hall to look for clothes when he remembers that the home owner would likely appreciate being asked beforehand. Turning to do just that, he looks down to see that he's tracked water and small clumps of mud around with him. 

Logan backtracks to the covered porch he'd glimpsed earlier. He removes his boots, sodden jeans and sweatshirt tossing them aside. He grabs a mop hanging by the door and begins hunting down water.

"Oh, I'll take care of that tomorrow…" Charles falters upon seeing Logan emerge from the mud room mopping briskly, clad only in a tank and boxer briefs. 

"Best to get it done now so we don't regret it later." 

Charles nods in agreement and soon enough Logan is finished and stowing the mop.

"Where can I get us a change of clothes?" Logan's already taking steps towards the hall.

"My room is directly opposite the bathroom. You should find something in the dresser at your left." The larger man nods and marches into Charles' room. He finds flannel sleep pants and well worn t-shirts in the top drawer, grabbing two of each.

Logan pads back into the kitchen and drops the dry clothing on the table beside Charles.

"So, Mr. Self-reliable. How d'you think you're gettin' cleaned up?" Logan offers the other man some semblance of control as he leans once more against the counter opposite Charles, trying not to hover or intimidate, even making an effort to be patient.

"Well, I'd like a shower. A bath would be even better." The other man looks like he could certainly use a relaxing soak, but Logan is already shaking his head.

"You're shivering ain't that bad, but with even a chance of hypothermia it's best you don't get warmed up too quick. Better not risk it. I'll re-soak the towels and we can do a quick wash right here." Logan moves to pick up said towels from where he'd dropped them after his first attempt to get the other man clean. He runs them under a warm tap, determined to get it over with.

Charles does not look happy, but Logan figures he'll just have to get over it.

"Perhaps I can sit on the side of the bathtub and-" 

"Enough!" The bigger man roars into the kitchen. 

"I get where you're comin' from. You're preachin' to the bull-headed choir. But let's get a few things straight: We've already established that I ain't lettin' you walk tonight; I'm also not holdin' you up in the shower nor am I dropping you in the bath or letting you lean in from the side; hell, you'll be lucky if I let you chew your own food. I've tried to be nice, but it looks like I've already passed my 15 minute record for docility." Logan crowds the other man forcing him back to lean on his elbows against the table. 

"We're gonna clean you up here, get you fed and in bed and then you can curse me out tomorrow when you're at full steam. Got it!" 

Logan straightens and takes a full step back wiping his hands roughly over his face to calm himself. He looks back up to see fear and anger at war in the other man.

"Look I'm sorry, ok. But we need to get this done already so you don't get sick. And the fact that you're takin' pain meds tells me all the nerves in your legs ain't dead so you're gonna be in a good deal of pain come morning right? You should be resting ASAP, which happens to be as soon as now." 

He can tell that Charles wants to yell at him. His face is beat red and his scowl could rival his own. He can also see that the man's anger is losing out to a poisonous cocktail of emotional destitution, weakness, self-loathing, worthlessness… he recognizes that particular vintage all too well.

“Don’t look like that Chuck. I didn’t mean to… well yeah I did mean to yell. But I don’t wanna make you feel like shit. We just gotta get this night over with already. If you let me do this for you I'll… I'll owe you ok? You can get a favor to be paid later outta me, how's that?” 

For a moment he’s surprised at himself for caring how the other man feels, but he’s always been a sucker for shows of bravery against the odds. Plus he ain't bad to look at and I’m only mutant.

Logan doesn't wait for a response. He steps back up to Charles, calm this time, with the wet towels still clutched in his hand. Logan moves the blankets away from the quietly trembling figure and then he is quick yet efficient as he gently wipes the mud from Charles' hands and legs. That towel gets tossed with the rest of the soiled laundry and then he's using the other wet towel to wash over Charles' stomach and chest. He stops for a moment, weighing his next move.

"We gotta take these shorts off. They're soaked with sea water. You just hold onto my neck ok? I got the rest." Charles glowers at him, even as he complies. Logan leans into the angry man and squeezes him with one arm around his torso, hauling him up to rest against the larger man's shoulder. He yanks the boxers down and quickly runs the towel over his back, rear and behind his legs. He sets Charles back down, yanks his underwear the rest of the way off and tosses them and the towel towards the mud room. 

“You can be more thorough tomorrow. Just wanted to get the dirt and sea grime off ya.” Logan slides one of the blankets to cover the other man's crotch.

Charles nods and breaths a bit easier now that the torment is over, feeling that at least some of his dignity is still intact. 

Logan grabs the alcohol and cotton swabs he'd removed from the first aid kit earlier and applies some to the scratches over the other man's flesh.

"You'll have a nice array of bruising, but I don't see any major damage. I know only simple field medicine, but I can still check to see if anything is torn internally. Can you feel this?" He lifts Charles' right leg to extend and retract it, feeling along the muscle for any sign of new injury.

"I can feel a little pressure." Logan switches to massage and check the other leg while Charles tries to relax and stop himself from getting agitated again.

"Can't feel anything exceptional. I'll check again in the morning; make sure there's no swelling or deep contusions." Logan says as he then quickly pulls a pair of sleep pants up and over Charles’ legs, picking him up again slightly to yank them over the man's hips. He hands the t-shirt to Charles who sullenly pulls the worn article over his torso.

“I’ll take you to the other room now. S’warmer.” Charles nods as Logan picks him up along with the blankets in a bridal carry. It only takes four of Logan's large strides to the sofa in the parlor where he sets Charles’ down with his back to the fire, nestled against the plush oversized arm of the blood red sofa; his legs stretched out over the center cushion. 

“I’m gonna shower real quick. You ok?” Logan is already taking off his tank top, standing at the opening of the hallway, hand resting on the wall as he waits for Charles to answer. 

“Yes. I'm fine.” Charles gathers the blankets around himself and relaxes in his warm cocoon.

“Good.” Logan smirks and then rounds the corner to the bathroom.

He's under the hot shower spray and lathering up before he finally calms. He lets loose a long held sigh and allows himself to relax and think.

\-----

The day had started out fine enough. The sea was as calm as one could hope for in mid November. 

They’d gotten a decent haul of blue crabs and were working on their largest catch of the day when the wind picked up and the boat started rocking. The captain had called for all hands to head bellow as the maelstrom grew rapidly. Logan secured his cages to the deck and was making his way below when Rogue comes hauling ass through the hatch.

"Remy isn't down there!" she yells frantically over the rising din.

"I'll find him, don't you move!" He could hear Stryker shouting that the kid was probably hiding in the hold, but Logan knew never to trust Captain Shithead when he urged them not to worry. 

He made his way over the thrashing ship, the deck already slick with sea foam. He held on to the crates and started calling for the kid, but realized he was only losing his voice to the raging storm. 

Finally he sees the magenta colored glow of Remy's power as he tries to charge the crate to destroy it in order to free his trapped leg.

"Kid, STOP!" Logan yells. Remy trusts his voice and obeys allowing the kinetic energy to drain from the object.

“Logan!” The kid screamed finally spotting him as well. “I got stuck, I couldn’t-“

“It’s fine kid!” Logan unsheathed his claws and pummeled the wooden crate, yanking the kid up and then running them both back towards the hatch. Rogue’s still there, waiting with wide, frightened eyes that are trained at a point high above their heads. 

He doesn't look back for confirmation, he just grabs the Cajun and throws him with all his might towards Rogue who finally snaps out of her stupor and flies up to effortlessly catch Remy. She dives back in through the hatch, slamming it and securing their safety. 

He finally looks behind him in time to witness a massive wave break over the boat. The crate he'd destroyed to save Remy breaks loose under the pressure, barreling into him and forcing him overboard.

Logan remembers fighting his way to the surface, but endless waves fought harder to drag him deeper and deeper. 

He became the oceans rag doll; flung about and drowned as his body futilely struggled on. 

With lungs full of water, there was naught more he could do, but to give himself over to nothingness.

 

Then he comes to. 

He comes back to life underneath an almost equally drowned rat called Charles. A disabled man who'd risked himself for a stranger. A man who is full of repressed power and fathomless anger and just so happens to be very attractive when the latter comes into to play.

Lookin's fine, but don't over complicate it. Never get too attached again, remember?

He rouses himself from his thoughts to rinse; dry; don his too tight, borrowed clothing; and go straight to the kitchen to prepare a little something to replenish their lost energy. 

\-----

He steps back into the parlor with steaming mugs clutched in both hands to the sight of Charles dozing, head lolling to the side against the sofa. Before Logan can decide if he should wake him or not the other man’s eyes flutter open. 

“Just resting." Charles says straightening up as Logan walks over and hands him a mug of tea. Charles takes it gratefully, relishing the heat it offers.

"Thank you. I didn't realize how depleted I was." Charles breathes deeply of the steam and then tentatively takes a slow sip of the scalding liquid. 

He looks up to offer an appreciative smile to the other man, but instead he drops his eyes back to his mug upon seeing Logan in his borrowed clothes. Clothes which are a size too small in some parts and even smaller in others. Charles is upset to find that he enjoys the improved visibility of the man's physique.

"Figured you should have something on your stomach with those meds right? Either way it's good to get some energy after all we went through." Logan sets down his own cup on the coffee table as he heads back to the kitchen once more.

"Do you want sugar or anything?" Logan asks on his way.

Charles recovers from his internal struggle and shakes his head. "I can go without accoutrements for once." He tries not to watch Logan as he returns with two plates, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa.

"Looks like you've gone without more than once. Couldn't find much in your cupboards." Logan comments as he hands a plated peanut butter sandwich to Charles and grabs his own, taking a large bite and making quick work of it. 

The smaller man narrows his eyes wondering if Logan was trying to insult him. Charles then concedes to the possibility that he's just gotten more sensitive while living alone.

”There's a joke from a flick about having 'peanut butter, no jelly'. I wasn't expecting to find the punch line in a place like this. You been holed up long cuz of the storm?" Logan pauses between bites, waiting for Charles to respond.

"I just haven't had the time." Charles says brusquely as he takes a tentative bite of his own sandwich.

"I don't mean to pry." Logan says by way of apology.

Charles scoffs and gives the larger man a disbelieving look.

"You seem to manage it quite well in spite of whether you mean to or not."

Logan chuckles. "Well, you got me there. I can't seem to help myself sometimes. Like I said before, this is part of how I work through things. You helped me and now I'm on a quest to help you."

"A quest? " Charles chuckles at the man's choice of words and Logan breaks into a wide grin, laughing along with him.

"You are very surprising Logan. Just when I think I don't like you, you throw me for a loop." Charles is happy to take another bite of the too thick sandwich as he shakes his head at the other man.

"Gee, thanks. I guess." Logan deadpans with a halfhearted sneer. 

 

They sit in silence for some time. Logan finishes eating first and goes back for a second sandwich and more tea, refilling Charles' mug as well.

Logan settles in his seat again and prepares to do that which he hates most: apologizing a second time and being sincere about it.

"I feel shitty for how this whole thing played out. I hate repeating myself, but now that it's all over and we're able to relax I feel I oughta say it again: Thank you for gettin down in that hell and saving me." Charles pauses from taking another bite as he tries to remember the first time Logan had thanked him. They lock eyes as Logan continues.

"I hope my being an insufferable asshole hasn't ruined the possibility of me riding out the storm with you. And from here on out I promise that I'll not act without consulting you prior. I'll not intimidate you into doing something you don't want again either-" Charles puts down his sandwich and raises a hand to silence the other man.

"That's quite enough thank you. You make it sound like I couldn't have resisted you if I truly wished." He smirks challengingly at Logan who mirrors the expression.

"I don't like the way you commandeered things so to speak, but you're methods, none the less, proved efficient and much quicker than I alone could have been. Rest at ease my friend, the bulk of my problems are ones I can't give you credit for." Charles pauses, lost in thought again.

"Feeling helpless, being helpless is something I can't seem to get used to. And here you are; powerful, strong. I may not know what it is, but I can tell your ability is something awesome." He smiles fondly. "I felt that way about my own once upon a time. It's that bloody medicine. It kills the pain yes, but I'm afraid it's killed who I am, or was."

Logan is stunned at the man's candid thoughts. Maybe those bloody meds are kicking in. He decides to file the man's confession away for later.

"And of course you can stay. I'll not kick you out for bruising my ego. We need only be moderately civil to each other yes? My want to ensure your safety hasn't changed with the tide. I mean, I risked life and limb to get to you, it wouldn't do to have my sacrifice so quickly deemed null." He offers the larger man a grin.

Logan had intended to hide more of himself. But Charles, so honest and well meaning encourages an uncharacteristic feeling out of him. He already seems to know so what's the harm in commiserating with the guy?

"My mutation ensures that I heal rapidly and completely. If I come off powerful it's only because I lost fear of being harmed long ago. But you, now you're strong. Not many people would have risked themselves like you Chuck. Now that's damned awesome." He watches Charles' eyes as several emotions flash over them.

Charles brow furrows as he looks at the other man. Searching for something; for truth. He's not sure quite yet what it is he sees in Logan so instead he decides to deflect attention from himself.

"How do you feel? I know you're physically well, but… that must have been an ordeal none the less."

The truth is that after the first thirty near death experiences one becomes so intimately familiar with the subject that it no longer fazes in the same way. Or at least that's what Logan tells himself. 

"I feel fine."

Charles nods, not having expected more of an answer.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Logan nods. The guy's lettin' me stay, a story seems a fair payment.

"I'm a crab fisherman. We were… some miles off the coast, can't remember our last heading. When the storm hit it hadn't seemed that severe at first, but it blindsided us none the less. One of the new guys, Remy, got caught outside. I grabbed him and tossed him to Rogue and they got inside before the wave hit. A crate came free and knocked me overboard." Logan stretches, trying to shake off the memory of being dragged below.

"Then I was in the water; under it. Tried to fight, but couldn't. Then all of a sudden, I'm puking my guts out and starin' at you." And then he does stare, for just a moment. He falls into Charles' blue eyes and then looks away as if burned. Logan gets lost in his own memories for a moment until Charles ends the quiet.

"I'm the one to apologize now I think. It's horrifying what you've been through and I shouldn't have lashed out the way I did; demanding gratitude and all. It's just been a crazy night and obviously I'm quite testy around people. But those are merely excuses. I'm sorry." Charles shakes his head at himself as he trains a sincere gaze on Logan.

"No need to be sorry. You were right after all. 'Bout you savin' me and certain other things. And it's your house, you can say whatever the hell you want."

"Thank you my friend." Charles laughs. "Do you think it will be much trouble to contact your people?"

"No trouble at all really. It was my last run, they won't need me again until the start of next season."

"Oh, but surely they think you're dead! You mustn't want to worry them least of all that Remy. He must feel rather guilty for you going over, I know I would were I him." And Charles does look every bit as guilty even in a hypothetical situation. 

"I guess yeah. I don't know, I'll think on it." Logan scowls a bit as he shoves the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and begins working the thick peanut butter with his teeth. He's an all around do gooder, looks like. Wants to make sure no one dies on his watch, make sure no one's sad either. Ain't that sweet. In a small corner of Logan's mind that he rarely acknowledges a tiny voice screams yes it fucking is!

"Where the hell am I anyway?" Another subject change seems in order.

"Oh, well I suppose that would be pertinent information. We're on Long Island. Montauk Point Lighthouse to be precise."

"Hmm." Logan frowns to himself as he tries again to remember where their last position had been. Maybe he's a bit more waterlogged than he'd care to admit.

"I've loads of maps in the lighthouse." Charles offers.

"Thanks." And officially Logan is finished talking about himself. Time to switch focus.

"Can I know about your legs?"

It seemed the simplest if not most obvious question for Logan to ask in exchange for having offered some of his own story. Instead it surprises the other man, though not unpleasantly. 

Charles finds that most people ask about his injury in such a way that leaves him feeling hounded; their curiosity is demanding. Logan has managed to make the query a true choice on Charles' part and it causes a serene look to replace the one tinged in uncertainty and worry that Logan was beginning to think was just part of his natural visage. 

"Yes, you can." And as that smile widens a slight sheen washes over his eyes and Logan thinks, not for the last time, that Charles is one of the most lovely people he's ever met.

Lovely? Are you serious tough guy? It's either beautiful or sexy as fuck, we don't do lovely. 

Logan scoffs at himself. 

I'd do lovely in a heartbeat, who are you foolin'. 

Luckily before he starts giving himself mental high fives in agreement he tunes back in as Charles begins speaking. 

"Last year, there was… Simply put, there was flash flooding on the island and I lost control of my vehicle." Charles pauses for a moment, centering himself. "I was trapped inside until the rescue team came."

Logan nods at the aforementioned simplicity of the story and he wonders for a moment what the other man is hiding. He can see the still fresh pain written on Charles' face so for once he'll make sure not to pry. I've got my own baggage, the guy can have his as well. 

"So they were crushed huh? Do those leg cages keep them from falling apart again or…" 

Charles barks out a laugh that surprises them both.

"Sorry. It's not that they'll fall apart exactly, but they do keep the proper shape of the leg so that I can walk on them. My injury is at the L1 vertebrae. The nerve damage sustained means I can't rely on my legs alone to hold my weight or do much of anything save lay there." 

A sharp stab of sympathy aches in Logan's chest. He takes in the sorrow in Charles' form as the man tries to cover his sickly legs, grimacing as they involuntarily spasm slightly. Hell, I've seen much worse than these gangly gams. He don't need to feel so bad about 'em.

"The doctors told me that I'd be in a wheelchair permanently. And I believed them until I was put in rehab. A man called Darwin helped me to accept that my life wasn't over. That I might be limited now, but I could still go on; I can still be something close to happy at least. 

"Once the major healing was done I was able to use braces that were formed to my back and legs. Then sensation managed to return to my hips and I felt strong enough to only use leg braces. It's a good thing too because I don't think I could have gotten to you quite as easily in my old get up." Charles smiles and Logan nods in appreciation at the other man's strength.

"So you've been working hard to be this tough huh? Now I see why you got so pissed when I was helpin' ya." Logan grins as Charles' eyes narrow.

"I was 'pissed', as you so eloquently prescribe it, because I attempted this dangerous rescue, but then YOU turned out to be the one doing the rescuing! AND-!" Charles stops himself abruptly before he gets even more worked up and seems to calm down; breathing deeply as he often must.

"Can you understand how embarrassing, emasculating it might be to have a relative stranger pick you up so easily? Though I suppose you're bigger than a lot of people you meet, yeah? I bet it's easy to go picking everyone else up when you're your own behemoth." 

Logan's grin widens as he watches the other man's exasperation once more. He realizes there's a bit of a sadist lurking within himself as he so enjoys riling the other man up. But he can also see the proof of a dominant man being forced down by his injury and that gives his personal joy pause.

"You're right there. I guess I'm a little loose with the caveman antics. Never meant to stomp on your man card though. Sometimes my body goes straight into fight mode and I just trust it to get the job done." Logan stretches his arms out wide, bringing his hands behind his neck to rest his head as he rests his eyes.

"Yes well, in my home I'd appreciate a little more consideration yes? I may appear to be an invalid, but I've been living here alone for quite some time and I can assure you that I've proven myself rather adept at survival." Logan pops open an eye to see the other man sitting a bit straighter in vindication. Logan can't help but smile at the smaller man's spunk.

"Well maybe you can help me then. See, I've been on my own a lot too. I'm set in my ways I guess. But I think it's good for me to be taken down a peg and shown how to properly interact with others." He frowns a little at himself for admitting to a personal weakness. 

It's not like it's a bad thing. Being alone is great!

"So what do ya think Chuck? Can you make me less of a jerk and more socially adept or whatever?" Logan smirks as he closes both eyes again, reclining back.

"It remains to be seen if you are so salvageable." Charles mumbles under his breath taking a final bite of his sandwich and then setting the remainder on the couch between them.

Logan chuckles, but his curiosity doesn't let up.

"So how does someone with your… hindered abilities thrive in a lighthouse then?" Logan drops his hands and turns his body to face the other man, giving him his full attention.

"Well, admittedly, it wasn't easy at first. With the limited mobility let's just say I'm very happy to have my 'leg cages' as you so aptly identified them." He smiles again at that joke.

"Anyway, when I was finally able to come home it seemed like the hard work I'd done was all for naught. It took some getting used to simply maneuvering around the house and I hadn't realized how many bloody steps it takes to get from point A to B! And then of course there's the fact that this is a lighthouse. At first I gave up on the cosmetics of the facade I must admit. I felt very badly because it is such a beautiful structure. I just didn't … " he looks off in shame. 

"I just didn't want to see anyone for the longest time. To ask for any help. I still don't. I can't stand to have people looking and wondering and asking! Some people can be terribly rude, giving me looks and talking about me. And I've no doubt they know bloody well what happened those fucking busybodies…" Suddenly his eyes are huge and shocked. "I'm sorry! I'm so used to venting to myself that…"

Logan laughs loudly not even attempting to hide his pleasure.

"I don't believe it's all that funny." Says a miffed Charles.

"I may not know ya much, but you dropping an F bomb is hilarious!" Logan absentmindedly reaches over to pat the man's knee. 

"And the fact that you get so worked up while talking to yourself, well, I can relate. I'm often both my own worst enemy and the only one who can talk me down. At least your adorable when you're angry." 

Charles' eyes are locked on the spot where Logan touched his leg. Logan had carried him, cleaned him, dressed him, but this friendly touch is what Charles has been craving for so long; and he barely even felt it. He feels guilty for his yearnings, but at the same time he ponders what he could do to be touched like that again, firmer so he could feel it better.

Logan watches the other man as he battles his demons. 

"You get caught in your own world pretty easy there kid. Not even gonna get mad that I called you adorable?" Logan offers as a way to break the kid out of his own head.

Charles' eyes snap up at that. Indeed he would have gotten good and bothered, but he hadn't heard most of what Logan said. 

"I'm not a kid nor am I adorable." He offers halfheartedly. He avoids Logan's eyes still caught in a torrent of feelings, all of them touched starved.

"You were telling me about the lighthouse, how it wasn't easy to get around at first." Charles looks grateful for the subject change, releasing a breath.

"Yes well. I had nearly given up on going into the lighthouse entirely until I realized propelling myself might just work. I was lucky to find a man who wasn't affected by my seclusion. I would never have known what I was looking for were it not for him." 

"It was your idea first though. You didn't give up. I bet a lot of people in your situation would've. But you worked around the problem instead. Tough and smart. You keep surprising me too."

Charles blushes and tries to stop the smile from breaking across his face. He wants desperately to bask in the complement, but even more so he doesn't want to appear needy.

He does allow a small smile, mumbling a quick thanks as he surreptitiously wipes at his ever dewy eyes. 

They sit in comfortable silence for some time, stomachs full and watching the flames lick up into the air.

"Can I-" "You don't-"

They both start to speak at the same time. Logan nods giving the floor to the other man.

"I was just going to say that perhaps you don't need as much help as you were alluding to earlier. You can be perfectly genial when you want to be. But maybe a few swift kicks here and there are in order to remind you of such." Logan smiles and agrees.

"And what were you going to say?" Charles asks as he tries to fight another blush caused by his own earnestness.

"I was just wonderin' if I could take a look at the chair you made. Sounds interesting." Logan is impressed by the man's drive and wants to see the fruits of his labor.

Charles shrugs. "If you'd like. Back through the kitchen. The patio wraps around leading straight to the lighthouse."

Logan winks at him and then he's making his way. The wrap around is thankfully covered allowing him to stay dry as he enters the structure. 

There's deep, rumbling thunder in the distance and then lightning streaks across the wall through a small window. He throws a switch to his left and sees the bosun's chair dangling in the center of the ground floor. It's a canvas seat with strong cable connected at four points; two at the back and two secured under the front of the seat. There's a second safety harness that looks like it attaches to Charles himself. 

He jogs to the top and steps onto a small landing that was created for Charles to mount the chair. It breaks out from the staircase with support beams running back to the existing skeleton of the structure. There's a cushioned seat mounted to the railing where Charles can ease himself into the chair. He leans out towards the center to look at the mounting brackets. It looks like it could even take his weight. It's good work.

He steps back onto the main staircase and climbs the last few steps to check out the observation deck. He flips a few switches causing antique Tiffany lamps and sconces to stutter to life, covering the entire room with a cozy, amber glow.

It looks like a retro lounge not something he'd imagine seeing at the top of an old lighthouse. Thick, leather seats are grouped here and there reminiscent of the pub it's meant to replicate. Artwork of different media line the walls. They don't follow a particular theme, but seem to be purposeful nonetheless. 

Dead center there's a ladder attached to a wide cement support column leading up to the actual lighting fixture. Wrapped around that is a crescent shaped bar, fully stocked. 

Logan finds that he enjoys the atmosphere even though he usually loathes ostentatious displays.

He walks over to the thick glass window; a crescent that mirrors the bar. He peers down into the lingering storm and decides it would have been beautiful with its darkness and lightning had it not just tried to kill him. He looks down and imagines Charles in his current position. Seeing a lifeless body on the rocks, waves crashing over it; dying if not already dead.

He huffs out a sigh, shaking his head as he begins the walk back to the cottage.

The kid propelled down this thing, he imagines seeing Charles as he descends, looking at the pulley system one last time. 

He touches down here and then… how in the hell did he make it over that grass, down a damn cliff and then crawling over to me?

He feels like an asshole for brushing off the man the way he did. Logan undoubtedly would have bounced back, but Charles didn't know that. All he knew was there was someone who needed help and he was the only one that could do anything about it. 

He walks through the kitchen door again feeling low. He resolves to find a way to pay the guy back somehow.

"That's some system Chuck…" He doesn’t finish his thought when he sees the man actively sleeping this time, cheek smushed against the back of the couch.

Logan shakes his head. He really is adorable. 

He leans over the napping man and gently shakes his shoulder until he rouses. 

"Am I allowed to help you to bed?" he whispers cheekily when the smaller man's eyes open. 

Charles doesn't fully awaken, merely nods sleepily as Logan hoists him up and heads down the hall towards his bedroom.

He lowers Charles onto the bed and then moves to start a fire in the room's small pot belly stove. Logan then sits next to the exhausted stranger and allows himself to get a better look at his savior. 

It's hard to tell without standing, but he reckons Charles comes up just to his chin; as tall as a kiss to the forehead. 

Laying against the pillow the way he is has his rich, chocolate brown hair fanning out. Logan remembers the way it just touched his shoulders as he sat with the roaring fire as a backdrop. 

He's got a few freckles, some blemishes perhaps from a combination of wind and sun; par for life on an island. He looks so much younger with his face relaxed in sleep; frown lines melting away. 

Though closed now Logan conjures up the image of eyes a bright, piercing blue. When open they'd also been tired and red rimmed, but still stunning, bewitching. 

His facial hair is reddish and neat in spite of the man having obviously not shaved in some time. 

And his lips; thin and cracked from subconsciously biting them as he worries. Logan made sure not to stare at the abused flesh while chatting with Charles. 

He decides he's had his fill of perving on the sleeping man and as he pulls one of the blankets over the thin body he makes a note to get him some much needed supplies. He could use a few more pounds. 

He heads back into the parlor and settles on the deep crimson sofa resting his head on his hands as he stares up at the ceiling. He works at making his mind blank because it's best if he doesn't drift off to thoughts of sad, pretty eyes. But he's never really been good at doing what's best though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this sucker makes sense to anyone beside me! If there's something that seems weird please let me know. I apparently have a deep love for commas, semicolons, ellipses, run on sentences... and i ramble like a mofo... so let me know if anything breaks your brain, thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> This is officially the first bit of fiction I've ever posted. I'm not asking for kid gloves, but rather your honest opinions. 
> 
> As i said, this isn't near finished. i do have a good 9,000 more words that i didn't get around to editing yet so if this first chapter didn't piss you off i'd love to stop procrastinating and throw the rest at you... i mean, it's just sitting there besides.


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